


Life's What You Make It

by mellyb6



Series: Royal Ever After [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adoption, Babies, Cooking, Dinner, F/M, Happily Ever After, Post S3, Pregnany, Sexy Times, Wedding, also I'm not used to writing f/m porn anymore, it felt weird, life at night, life at the palace, reunion after a long absence, someone brushes somebody's hair, still good, there are so many babies in paris these days, this is the softest porn I've written in months
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post s3 - Aramis has been away on a royal mission. The Queen has missed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's What You Make It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [learose80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/learose80/gifts).



> This was inspired by Sylvie who wanted some Annamis sexy times and also Zoé who gave me the basis to start: How about Aramis has been away for a while doing negotiations and Anne jumps on him the moment he returns? 
> 
> It is a continuation of sort from A Father to Many .

Every single movement that Aramis makes seems to be in slow motion. One month on the road negotiating peace treaties and some nights even sleeping in the field were exhausting. On top of endless and complicated political talks from which depended the future of the country, living a harsh life was something he had somewhat forgotten after more than a year living in royal Palaces. At least he had the company of Porthos some days to remind him what it was like to be a soldier and to make fun of him when he would wake up with a sore back.

 

Coming back to Paris exhausted him perhaps more than the entire length of the negotiations, especially knowing that this isn't the end of it. These are the moments when Aramis starts to believe that being a politician cna actually be harder on the nerves than being a soldier. Having to attend an exceptional Council Meeting the minute after coming back to the Louvres didn't do anything to help. It was necessary and he wasn't the only member out on their mission so there were many voices to supply information to his report, yet he _is_ the First Minister and every eye was focused on him. Showing signs of weakness would have been unacceptable.

 

All is almost well in the end, the Spanish weren't as ruthless as they had dreaded in their demands and Aramis does suppose they are on the right track to find appropriate agreements which would satisfy both parties. The Queen frowned at some of his explanations, certainly not pleased that the future of her son was so much embedded in securing peace. But after all, she did get married to secure an alliance with France as well. Although it isn't a prospect that Aramis enjoys either, the young King would always remain in Paris anyway, close to them, and any actual marriage isn't going to happen for many years. It might be wishful thinking but the boy may even have time to know his bethrothed when she will have been chosen. Anything so that his future private life can be more successful than the one his mother had with the late King.

 

In spite of how displeased Queen Anne was, it was a blessing for Aramis to finally be able to see her after long weeks apart. They didn't have the chance to talk in private, they hardly ever do during the day with so many people and ears around them. Today was a bit more challenging to avoid making long eye contact or to seek the other's closeness. She must have missed him as much as he missed her on the road. They've grown so intimate and familiar in the months spent together that such a separation may have been what bothered Aramis the most.

 

He's ecstatic he will see her for dinner tonight, after the long and relaxing bath that he took to clear his mind. His bed looks more inviting out of the corner of his eye yet declining a dinner with her Majesty wouldn't do. But putting his clothes on takes a long time, his half-closed eyes looking out of the window to the setting sun of late August. There are flowers in his bedroom which have appeared out of nowhere and give the room a welcoming atmosphere.

 

Aramis hopes there won't be many people invited to dine with them. He wishes for nothing more than to not have to keep company to courtiers or other politicians. His only desire is to have some peace and quiet with his Queen and to tell her all the mundane details which didn't fit the Council Meeting but that Aramis knows that she craves.

 

It's a godsend then, when there is a knock on the door and that it swings open while he hastily finishes to button his jacket. This is the sight which will always make him catch his breath, no matter how often he will be fortunate enough to behold it. The Queen was always magnificent in his eyes, from the very moment he started to be drawn to her. She was magnificent when she was with child, when she was a young mother, when he saw her again after the Monastery. She was magnificent when she was in mourning, strong and powerful. However, since coming out of her dark gowns and deciding to dress in soft and light outfits, Aramis has been falling in love with her even more. It looks like as if she has been rejunevated, from his presence perhaps, from the continual attention she can give to her son, from her newfound liberty as Regent and woman.

 

Aramis has to smile a wide smile which makes his exhaustion fade away at how she walks into the room, albeit not alone but acting as if the guards and the servants behind her didn't matter. Her gaze is fixed on him, on observing his figure and on assessing if he really is as unarmed as he assured her. One month with only scarce letters didn't do much to appease her. She was restless without her Aramis around, unused to have to spend the few moments of respite in her day with her ladies-in-waiting. It reminded her of a time in her life that she would rather forget. The Palace is too big without the man that she loves in it.

 

“Majesty.” There is no bow. Instead, he cocks his head only a little, stares at her with intensity, so much that the Queen almost forgets why she came here for in the first place.

 

“I supposed you might enjoy a more private dinner after such a tiring journey.”

 

Aramis watches with awe and happiness all the goods set on the table in the middle of his bedroom. A wave of relied washes over him at knowing that he probably will not have to leave his quarters for the night.

 

“This is very thoughtful of you, thank you very much.” Aramis does bow his head this time, more as a thanking gesture than a respectful one.

 

“There are also some more developments that were not adressed earlier that I would like to discuss with you, if you don't mind.”

 

“Anything that you want, Masjesty.”

 

Her entourage is dismissed with a wave of her hand, the doors closing behind the guards and Aramis can finally relax his stance. The Queen's face lights up in their new privacy, her eyes kind and her hands reaching out for him. She's missed touching him.

 

“Is there any problem?” Aramis has to inquire.

 

He wishes only for dinner, not to rack his brains about how to avoid their son being married to someone foreign to him. Truth be told the Queen is correct in saying that the possibility of offering Mademoiselle in marriage to the Spanish instead is always open. She is after all a princess of the blood, second in line to the throne of France if a catastrophe should happen to the King. And much older than the little boy. Already at an age when she could be married. Either way, the Queen must realize that her son will have to marry for his country first and foremost, discarding feelings. It cannot be avoided, she must know that.

 

“Yes. There is something I've been wanting to do all day and it was somehow denied to me.”

 

Aramis' hand feels hot and rough in hers, their fingers threading together as she takes the last step which separates her from him. He's done a poor job buttoning his jacket and she cannot help but run one hand over his chest, getting accustomed again with someone who should always be by her side. Aramis' arm is safe around her waist, in spite of all the fabric in between his flesh and hers, but she likes it nonetheless.

 

The Queen loves how his breath washes over her face while he studies her, remembers the face which was engraved in his memory anyway. She is always so more beautiful in person. Her white skin and the soft powder she uses to give her cheeks more color, her blue and piercing eyes, the way her lips part just before Aramis kisses them. How she has to melt against him with the force of the kiss. Quiet and patient yet eager and showing all the love and passion they share.

 

Aramis shivers at the tender fingers gliding on his neck, holding on there and pushing his face towards hers, lightly yet strongly. This is home, much more than any other places he's lived in before. Home is his Queen and their newly found intimacy. No more restraint, no more having to wait to show how deep their love can be. It'll always be behind close doors yet given how far they've come, Aramis would never dare complain about that.

 

She smells delightful, she is pliant in his arms, her mouth offering him everything that he wants, her fingers clutching his clothes and her body pressing so much against his, desperate for an embrace she's dreamed about for weeks. Queen Anne is out of breath by the time Aramis kisses her mouth sweetly one last time, and rests his forehead against hers. His gaze is so intense, their eyes so close that she cannot help but reach forward for another kiss.

 

Aramis' lips are full and passionate, warm and delicious, an offering to her greedy ones. She will never get enough of this. Not now that they have all the time in the world and it is somehow not a forbidden action anymore.

 

“I've missed you terribly,” she eventually whispers, her face enclosed by Aramis' hands. She feels safe in her feelings and their relationship. One thumb glides on her cheek, back and forth. She leans against the touch.

 

“I've missed you, too.”

 

“You shouldn't be allowed to leave me for so long.”

 

“You are the one who ordered me to go.” Aramis has to chuckle at how the Queen sighs.

 

“All for the best eventually, but I nevertheless felt empty without you.”

 

“We'll make up for it,” Aramis promises, his hand rubbing her waist, moving up and down her side.

 

“You look exhausted,” she has to remark. It was striking during the Meeting, but it is perhaps more now that it is night.

 

“I am. But I feel better now.”

 

“Good. I hesitated before coming because you need to rest after all of your hard work, but then I assumed a quiet dinner would be more appropriate than a more official one.”

 

“And you were correct. Thank you.”

 

Aramis rejoices in her pleased smile. She looks so young when she is happy with him, when they are alone and that after long months spent in each other's company, they have developed the best familiarity. She holds on to his hand while they sit at the table, their chairs so close it would have caused a scandal if it had been in the dining room. The Queen barely allows Aramis to relinquish her hold except to pour them some wine.

 

“You must try this cake, Aramis,” she insists, pointing at the sliced treat exposed in the middle of the table. “I baked it.”

 

Aramis chokes on his grape, coughs a few times while glancing at her to see if she is telling a joke or the truth. Queens were never trained in such mundane tasks, Aramis should know as he experienced her disastrous cooking skills once and it was more than enough for him and his fellow Musketeers. Yet, the Queen looks and sounds quite proud to announce it so he refrains from making any jests.

 

“Pardon me. Do you mean you had it made or....”

 

“Oh no, not at all. I baked it. Well, I helped Elodie bake it. I wasn't on my own. You will not be poisoned by it, I promise.”

 

Her eyes tinkle as she says it. She reaches for the golden plate, expertly cuts a piece and eats it, for the purpose of showing him that it's safe. But also because Aramis is always hypnotized by her lips and it's been a month since they've been alone so the Queen feels bolds tonight. She closes her eyes as the butter and sugar melt on her tongue. She is rather satisfied something that she helped cook did not turn out awful.

 

“How did you find your way into Elodie's kitchen? I'm curious.”

 

“I came to call on her on the way back from the orphanage. She can hardly leave her house anymore. Isn't she due in September or so?”

 

“Yes, she is. Porthos was quite impatient to be called back to Paris to be there with her.”

 

“And so he shall. We have other Generals to keep the troops in control. He must be there for his child's birth.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Aramis has to squeeze her hand, even though he had himself made the same promise to his best friend without waiting for a royal order. Porthos may be head over heels with Marie-Cessette, the birth of his second child is an event he cannot possibly miss. Especially since he only saw Elodie once for a few weeks while she was with child. He left late in January and only learned she was expecting through one of her letters. He was there in June, to commemorate the one year anniversary of the late King's death, but it will never be enough. He serves his country before anything else, he's always been adamant about this and yet, Aramis could notice first hand how restless Porthos was when he was staying with him last month. He wonders if he'll help Elodie as much as he did during the birth of their daughter.

 

“Elodie said her feet hurt if she stayed in one position for too long but the guards thought it unwise to take a stroll in the streets.”

 

Aramis can only agree. He's more amazed than the Queen accepted it as well. She's been known to do things her own way. Perhaps the well-being of her friend was more important than making her royal voice heard.

 

“Her servants had gone on some errands so she showed me how to bake a proper cake. My first cake.”

 

“I can imagine.” What Aramis has more trouble imagining is his Queen, in her regal clothes, in a mere kitchen, dirty and scorching hot. Soot and flour everywhere. He wonders who suggested the activity. Elodie may have grown quite close to Queen Anne during the past year, not even Constance ever offered her to do such a thing as cooking. “Did you enjoy it?”

 

“Very much. It was a real pleasure to breathe some fresh air afterwards, though, because I would have never imagined kitchens could be so stuffed. And there are so many steps to remember, so many ingredients and you have to be careful or you will ruin the entire food.”

 

Aramis has been smiling since the beginning of the tale, glad that Queen Anne has found a new friend who isn't afraid to show the Queen what being a real woman actually means. Constance could never do this while her friend was married to the late King, but Elodie met Queen Anne at a different time in her life and Porthos' absence has led the monarch to reach out more to his wife. If she wants to be a Queen of the people, Queen Anne is determined to experience their daily life if she can. It will never be the same as really living in a poor Parisian household because being a General's wife means that Elodie has a good social status and her standards of living are closer to the ones in the Louvres than to those in the refugee camps. Yet for Aramis, it already shows how his Queen is willing to change the opinion her people have about her. She's on the right track to do so.

 

“Elodie also loved what we had commissioned for their child. I gave it to her on my own, I hope you don't mind.”

 

“Absolutely not,” Aramis assures her, finally accepting the piece of cake she is offering him. His lips close on the fork and the food is surprisingly delicious on his tongue. Light and bursting with flavor. He goes back for second, the Queen pleased to feed him. “It's positively exquisite.”

 

The Queen giggles, both from his transfixed expression and by the adoration in his words. She will never cease to surprise him.

 

“Soon you will be cooking an entire feast by yourself.”

 

“Probably not.” She shakes her head, amused by Aramis' ludicrous idea and how he smiles cheekily at her. When did her life become so good? Aramis shifts closer to her, feeds her some apple. “But I do intend to be one of the first to visit after the birth of their child.”

 

“Are you impatient?”

 

“Very much. I want to make sure they are both healthy and taken good care of. Not that I doubt Porthos to do so, but I've had to insist for Elodie to accept the services of the royal midwife. She has so little work to do otherwise.”

 

There is nothing bitter in the way Queen Anne says this, and yet Aramis recognizes the longing in her voice. This can never happen to her again, because it would put her entire reputation and position in jeopardy, but it doesn't mean that the Queen wouldn't have wanted more children of her own. Aramis may already have given her the pride and joy of her life, Louis would certainly have been happier with siblings. She knows she would have been, to see them all play together. The children from the monastery are in the Palace often, they even came to Fontainebleau with the royal household a few weeks back, so it's as close as a big family the Queen will ever have.

 

If she cannot have natural children anymore, because it would be unwise and dangerous, she can at least live vicariously through all the others close to her. Besides, when she longs for children, she actually longs for babies she could hold and cherish. The Queen is already spoiling Marie-Cessette, bestowing clothes and toys upon her, delighted to see her try to walk and babble. So yes, she is rather impatient for the birth of Porthos' second child.

 

Aramis leans forward to kiss the Queen softly, to show that he loves her for everything that she is, for everything that she is showing to him and to the world. Her kindness, her affection, her compassion, her will to defend everyone no matter where they come from. Her desire to show her people that everybody deserves respect and dignity. Her quiet voice and her mighty roars when she believes Council Members are not taking her seriously. Everything which had been restrained while her late husband ruled and which has now been unleashed to show how powerful she really is.

 

The Queen pushes against Aramis' lips, forgets the food in her hands to wrap her arms around his neck, to savor the light kisses which follow on her cheek. Soft and gentle. Loving. Conveying all the deep feelings Aramis has for her, all the comfort he wants to give her. He's missed being able to hold her in his arms. He's missed how her fingers run in his hair, how soothing it is. How it makes him sigh with pleasure. How relaxing it is. He likes how they don't have to talk during such moments. The rest of the world is forgotten to them. It revolves around them, their passion and their tender gestures. Rough fingers brush the Queen's neck, applying just enough pressure to show her that he is here, that he is surrounding her, that he loves her. Not enough to hold on to her firmly, in spite of how much she'd enjoy that.

 

“Isn't it a bit too late for you to wear your hair like this?” Aramis has always liked her more with her hair down. When she resembles a more common and free woman. When her blond curls fall down her shoulders and her back to show how simple her soul actually is.

 

“What would you have me do? Call a maid to help me?” The Queen's smile brushes against Aramis' lips. She's unwilling to move, unwilling to even stand up to call anyone. Nobody will disturb their tranquil bubble tonight. She couldn't care less if her presence is required someplace else or if someone comes looking for her in her appartments only to find she is unavailable. Her household has somewhat been reshaped with people she trusts. If not completely at least more than when her late husband was in charge of her entourage.

 

“There's no need for that.” It's a whisper, hot on her face and then Aramis is gone, standing up, rummaging through his stuff before finding what he needs. The Queen is looking at him with astonishment once he's back on his chair, motioning for her to turn around.

 

“Will you do this for me?”

 

“I've done it in the past, haven't I?”

 

“Yes, but....”

 

“I'd love to do it again.” He drops a kiss on her rosy cheek, letting his mouth glide down along her jaw until he encounters the skin of her neck, right under her ear, where some of her hair is curling out of her hairdo. Aramis lets go of his brush for a brief moment, to caress the nape of her neck, to see how the Queen shivers under his touch. From delight and anticipation.

 

She can be simple with him, they don't need anyone foreign to their intimacy to come disturb their happiness, even in these daily tasks.

 

“These are splendid pearls that you are wearing, Anne.”

 

“Thank you. They were a wedding gift.”

 

“From someone with exquisite taste, obviously.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

She chuckles, then shudders at the long and meaningful kiss placed where some of her necklace used to rest. Aramis' fingers are skilled taking her jewelry off. His fingernails graze her neck ever so slightly and she misses the touch once the pearls are put on the table carefully. But the feeling of Aramis expertly removing ribbons and pins from her intricate hair replaces the loss of touch on her flesh and she has to close her eyes at all the sensations. He's careful with her, taking his time. Every time one of her locks drops to cover the nape of her neck, she feels more free than she was a second before, if it is even possible.

 

Aramis resumes their conversation after a silent while. He is content with the noises of appreciation his Queen makes, even though he cannot see her face anymore. He loves how her hair feels in his hands, how he can slowly and thoroughfully run his fingers through it. Such a simple task that he is allowed to do with the most important person of all. He hasn't been feeling this well in days. In weeks. Such simplicity between them that she might be the Queen of his heart and his life, she doesn't look like an actual queen in his care anymore. She is Anne, she is the woman that he has loved and cherished for years and that he will continue to do for years to come.

 

“Speaking of babies...., d'Artagnan sent me a rather peculiar and animated letter not long after we left for the negotiations.”

 

“Did he sound distressed?”

 

“And perhaps a little bit lost.”

 

“Constance did say that he was clueless for a few days. It's no wonder he wrote to you.”

 

“What happened exactly?” Aramis has to demand more information. His friend's letter was messy and clearly hastily written. D'Artagnan had seemed dumbfounded by the situation thrust upon him and Constance, unprepared for it, asking for advice Aramis didn't quite know if he was fit to provide. He had never had to care for an actual baby so early in its life. Not to mention two at once.

 

“As a matter of fact, it happened a few days before you left. I imagine Constance and him were too shaken at the time to come to us and I couldn't blame them for it. From what she told me when she did ask for an audience, they had sent a few Cadets on some mission and they found the babes lying in waste.”

 

“Did they both survive?”

 

“The last I've heard they're healthily screaming at the top of their lungs. Constance is quite annoyed she cannot nurse them themselves, until she said that it made her resemble a Queen, not allowed to do so either.”

 

Not for the same reasons, since Queen Anne would have more than gladly performed such a task for her son when he was younger, but it was beneath her to do so. Constance cannot because she was never with child in the first place, even though she quite furiously refused to give the babies up when the prospective Musketeers brought them back to the Garrison, having no idea what to do with them yet certain that they coudn't leave them to die in the streets.

 

Queen Anne was probably as shocked as d'Artagnan when she heard the entire story. Two children to take care of at once, wet nurses to find to provide nurishment and so many adjustements to be made to her friends' life. Constance had always hesitated to have children of her own, with good reasons, but these two were practically forced on her. She couldn't let them go after a few days spent with them. The Queen has no doubt that d'Artagnan will soon overcome his shock to love them as much as his wife already does. He may have done so already. He was so eager for children and it was no secret. It's true that one day notice is far shorter than en entire pregnancy to be prepared but he'll manage it just fine. The babies need it.

 

Poor souls abandoned in the wide world that Constance refuses to leave out of her sight for more than a couple of minutes, which is both an adorable thing to witness, but which is tiring her, her husband, and everybody else at the Garrison. It will likely become even more of a family now that it was when Tréville or Athos were Captains.

 

“Have you seen them?” Aramis asks, her hair shining in the candlelight everytime he brushes it.

 

“I have, once. I came to the Garrison because I didn't want to trouble Constance with coming all the way here. They are wonderful. Perhaps a little weak still, but you will love them. Angélique is helping Constance.”

 

“Is she now?”

 

“Yes. She is loving it. Luc is also showing her everything that he has learned at the Garrison for the past months when she is over there, or so I've heard.”

 

Aramis is relieved that the children from Douai are adjusting well to their life in the capital city, that they are finding their place and that they are being included by his friends to show their true potential. He himself cannot wait to call on the d'Artagnans to see their new family with his own eyes, to comfort d'Artagnan if needs be, to see how he handles two babies at the same time. He's always wanted children, ever since coming back from the front, and wouldn't stop talking about it, quite annoyed that Constance didn't share his point of view. Aramis doesn't doubt that he must be loving every second of it. The sleepless nights and the shrills and how his wife mustn't have much time for him anymore. He's also glad that Constance, with her big heart, has rescued the unfortunate children. They couldn't wish for better parents.

 

The fact that the Queen also went to visit her friend warms his heart. She is going out of her way to keep their bond strong, going out in the city when she would definitely be safer inside royal Palaces. Aramis cannot remember the late King visiting the Garrison or making so many public appearances except to go to mass for Christmas and Easter. Queen Anne is being such a remarkable monarch that the people cannot help but love and respect her.

 

“I can't quite imagine d'Artagnan with a baby in his arms, let alone two,” Aramis jokes, the brush gliding effortlessly in the Queen's hair, taming the curls, freeing them from the trap they've been in since the morning. It is relaxing and Queen Anne is thankful for the happy conversation or else she would have fallen asleep. Her eyes are already closed, nice memories flashing behind her eyelids: Constance trying to hide her yawns, one little girl's head on her shoulder while she paces the floor, unable to sit still with her royal guest. Another baby sleeping in the hastily-bought cradle by her side.

 

“The Captain of the Musketeers with his daughters? I cannot wait to see it either. Do you presume he will teach them how to shoot?”

 

“He taught Constance. And if he doesn't, the girls have some uncles more than willing to be their instructors.”

 

The Queen hears the sunshine in Aramis' voice while he talks of children he has never met yet that he loves tremendously because they have become a part of his large family.

 

“It will be so hard for their suitors,” Aramis ponders out loud. The men will protect them as fiercefully as they can, even though growing up with Constance as their mother, they might not requite much protection from the Musketeers.

 

“Will they even be allowed to have some?”

 

Aramis laughs at the Queen's question. Knowing his friend, d'Artagnan will perhaps be more protective of them than Porthos will ever be of Marie-Cessette. Aramis knows because this is how he would probably have been if he had been blessed with a daughter. He's already protective of his son, despite not being able to claim him as such. His heart does rejoice at the thought of the new task thrust upon his young friend. So different from training recruits yet more important than anything else. Raising children is the best mission which could ever happen. He'll add all the help he can to the one he is aware the Queen is already providing.

 

“Do they have names? Somehow, d'Artagnan never replied to the letter I sent back.”

 

“There seems to be a general case of exhaustion making its way in the Musketeers regiment lately. I would have imagined the Garrison was large enough so that most might avoid the cries of newborns but I must have been mistaken.”

 

“It'll settle in a few months. As long as it doesn't bother you....”

 

“They are still performing their duties as best as they can. Besides, from what you've told me, there were times when you were less than fit for duty and yet you did it nonetheless.”

 

It's a stretch but the Queen manages to turn her head enough to show Aramis her grin and her sparkling eyes. He has to laugh at how much she allows herself to tease him. He replies by running his fingers in her hair, massaging and indulging in the caresses. She loses her train of thought.

 

“Jeanne and Margot. These are their names. Constance had them baptized the very next day they were brought to her, just in case.”

 

Aramis acknowledges the names in silence. He doesn't require much explanation to understand why they were chosen. One for the much-loved Tréville and one for Marguerite. He doesn't wish to dwell on such thoughts tonight. He's glad Constance has had the wisdom to choose these names for her daughters, but he is also grateful the Queen doesn't comment on it more than he's necessary. They've had conversations in the past when he first started living at the Palace, that he would rather forget. He's relieved they've had them, for both of their sakes and for their relationship, but he's said everything he had to. He'll forever regret what he did to the royal governess so having to live with the guilt is punishment enough.

 

“Appropriate choices,” he replies instead. “I will try to visit them in the morning. I have to see Elodie for Porthos anyway. Half of the letters I brought back are from him.” The Queen nods, reclines in her chair and lets him finish his work. It's been over for a few minutes now, yet Aramis cannot bring himself to stop touching her.

 

He ends the silence with a quiet kiss at the base of her neck, pushing the long locks away, gathering them in his hand, letting them fall gracefully on the Queen's shoulders before brushing them away again, his fingers dipping a little under the fabric of her dress. Aramis feels the shivers under the pads of his fingers, he watches the goosebumps so close to his face everytime he drags his hand through the soft hair and the Queen shifts closer to him. Impossibly so until her head is somewhat resting against his chest and Aramis can wrap one arm around her chest. The chair is still between them, yet his hot and sweet breath washes over the side of her face. Compelling.

 

Tipping her head up, Aramis doesn't care if the position is awkward for him to kiss her. He does so nevertheless. The Queen moans ever so slightly against his mouth, pressing and turning around in her seat to face him more completely. Her heavy dress is a hindrance until Aramis breaks their embrace, leaving her with an intense feeling of loss. It is gone the moment he has stood up to effectively gather her in his arms, strong and keeping her close. Queen Anne grips his arms, thankful for the firm hold he has on her back, his right hand still playing with her hair, filling her heart and her body with exceptional sensations that she believes she will never get used to. Not that she intends to. She wants every of these moments spent with Aramis to be wonderful, to always surprise her in the most pleasing way.

 

“You didn't come to me only to have dinner, did you?”

 

The Queen's breathing is a bit ragged once they stop kissing. Aramis' lips aren't done, though, as they suck against her pulse point, nibbling the skin, the tip of his tongue licking the perfect white skin.

 

“I came to be reunited with my husband in every way possible.”

 

Aramis hears the pride and joy in her voice to be able to call him such and truth be told, he always feels over the moon to think that they are truly married. After all this time, after all the hardships and near-death experiences they went through. Aramis was always resolute that this time, they would do things the correct way, that they would honor the late King's memory in ways they had forgotten in the past. What they did all these years ago was selfish and unproper although it brought to the fore what the Queen and her soldier felt for the other.

 

So they respected the mourning year out of respect for her late husband, for the country and for her position. They respected it to the very last day, even waited a little more. Aramis remembers every second of the night after the Mass held for Louis XIII. The quiet of the little chapel in the dead of the night, at the time when presumably the Devil was sleeping and nothing would come to curse or destroy this new union. The Queen was breathtaking in her red dress, a wild contrast from the dark clothes she had had to wear for a year. Her hair down because that's how Aramis liked her the most. Only Constance, d'Artagnan, Porthos and a more than surprised Elodie with them. They must have done a good job hiding their affection for her never to realize what was happening between the Queen and her First Minister. They have improved on this aspect. They will never put anyone at risk because of their love anymore.

 

Queen Anne remembers how elated she was, how impatient to say these vows again, but this time because she meant them. She had never known a princess, a queen, a duchess or a countess who married for love and it seemed like such an incredible event to happen to her that even after it was done, that the priest she had trusted and come to for years and years since she was a little girl had pronounced them man and wife, she had to cling on to Aramis to truly believe it. This man could never be her husband in plain sight, it would always remain a secret but she didn't mind. He was hers officially, their names on paper and what they were doing tonight in Aramis' bedroom didn't qualify as a sin anymore. They could do anything they wanted, she could be as free and happy as she wanted. Finally.

 

Their secret ceremony had taken place less than two months beforehand, but the force of it, its beauty and its purity carried her during the weeks of Aramis' absence. Their wedding night, their first full night together after long years yearning for it sustained her as well. How he had brushed her delicate hair to get rid of the flowers and the jewels in it, how he had watched her with intensity while taking her clothes off, unlacing her corset and untying skirts and sleeves for her. Dexterous fingers and burning eyes which had made Queen Anne almost come undone on the spot.

 

So few nights spent together since.

 

“I've missed my wife,” Aramis replies softly, one hand already busy with her corset, the Queen still under his care. Her cheeks take on a beautiful pink color to hear the words roll on his tongue, to see the spark in his eyes and the reverence on his face. Eyes set on her, never looking away. How could Aramis be tired now? He's dreamed of this situation almost every night while he was away.

 

He will never be tired of calling her like this, just like he feels his heart jump in his chest whenever he can call her Anne. Simply Anne.

 

“I've missed your smiles and I've missed your voice. I've missed how you look at me and somehow, it's as if we've achieved the greatest enterprise in the world and we couldn't be happier. But I know we can.”

 

Aramis keeps on kissing her, her lips, her cheeks, her sensitive spot behind her ear, her neck and her shoulders, while he helps her out of her corset. Freeing her enough so that she can take a big and shuddering breath at his hands holding on firmly to her shoulders, pushing her gently on the bed when the mass of her skirts puddle at their feet and she is left in nothing but her underchemise, so flowing and light that Aramis can see through the fabric as it it wasn't there at all.

 

She reaches out for him, gasps a little once he falls on her and doesn't move at all, crushing her onto the bed, busy trying to take his jacket off with her help. Aramis has to rock back on his heels, allowing Queen Anne to sit back as well, enough for her to kiss him full on the lips, to pull on his hair while he attempts to strip around her ministrations.

 

“This is better than dinner,” she decides, when Aramis has lost both jacket and shirt and that she can explore the expanse of his naked chest, dragging her perfect nails on the strong flesh offered to her. Aramis has to bite his lip to avoid moaning too loud at the mouth closing on his bare skin, on the lips exploring what has been denied to them for so long. There's one hand running along his side, tickling and warming him much more than need be.

 

It's hot in the room, much more suffocating because of the mouth and the tongue timidly testing his boundaries. It's too early in their new intimacy for her to realize that he has close to none. That the tongue on his nipples is wanted. Needed. That she should always do it. Perhaps faster. Aramis presses closer to her, cradles her face closer to his chest. Sucks in a breath at the fingers resting at the top of his pants, fumbling with them. He bucks his hips by reflex. The smooth fingers are running back and forth and he's dreamed of them but they have all night.

 

“Not so soon,” he manages to gasp, looking at her from above when she raises her head. He has stilled her hand. It's too dark in the room, only one candle to the side almost burned out. But Aramis can gaze at her beautiful eyes nonetheless, watching the desire and impatience in them. “We have all the time in the world.”

 

Saying so, he grabs her hands, shuffles a little and lies her down completely on the bed. Her skin smells of so many incredible flowers that it doesn't matter if she can only gasp and moan while he kisses down her collarbone, exposing so much skin that Queen Anne ends up half naked as well, her chemise gathering around her waist, Aramis watching her breasts rise and fall with her uneven breathing.

 

“You're so pretty,” he whispers passionately, relishing in the charmed sound which comes from the Queen while his fingers roam on her sensitive skin, touching everything so carefully. Touches like a feather and then hot as ever as his mouth is on her breast, worshipping and sucking. Giving her as much pleasure as she's hardly had in long years. Her eyes fall closed and there isn't much she can say anymore. Not that Aramis needs her to say anything.

 

She is more than pretty, he realizes, offering herself to him without second thoughts, accepting his touch just like she accepted his sweet marriage proposal without a second to think it over. It's all meant to be.

 

The Queen shivers at the lips on her, at the fingers gliding down, stroking her silky thighs all the way down to her feet then up again, fuelling the fire that she can feel building inside of her and that she loves. It doesn't matter how it makes her squirm on the bed. She's all Aramis' tonight. She has no worries whatsoever. And he likes her like that, he's told her before. When she forgets everything but all the pleasure he can give her and the one she can give him. A pleasure she believed she was clueless about, worthless when it came to it. But one that Aramis has rekindled for her.

 

One he is rekindling right now, his devilish grin looking up at her from behind heavy eyelids as his mouth trails down her stomach, mouthing kisses on the soft material of her light clothing. The Queen is writhing long before Aramis lowers his head between her legs. She's shivering once he drops kisses on her lower stomach, on her thighs after he's pulled the chemise up and it's only covering a small portion of her stomach now. She's trembling at the hand firm on her hip and at how slowly Aramis breathes her in, letting her scent fill his lungs. How delicious it is.

 

“You smell marvelous,” he praises her, but doesn't get a response either. She's offering everything to him, eager for his touch, desperate for his tongue and for his lips, swollen from all the kisses but unwilling to stop tasting her anywhere that they can.

 

Aramis' tongue glides effortlessly on her, in spite of how she keeps on moving underneath him, unable to stop because he's making her feel so much so fast. She's yearning for it all because for so long she only had one precious night to sustain her, to power her through her days as an unhappy and abandoned Queen. Now that she can enjoy it anytime she wants, that she can enjoy Aramis and his delicate attentions, she finds that her mind can hardly take it all. It's driving her insane. It's making her feel so much better, so incredibly blissful that it's as if Aramis' mouth will make her combust right there on this bed.

 

She can feel the sweat gathering on her skin, feelings so intense taking over her as they've never done before. She never wants this exceptional sensation to stop. Just like Aramis will never get enough to being able to pleasure her like he's doing right now, one hand holding on to his hair because his Queen is so lost in her ecstasy that she hasn't even noticed what she was doing. She can only notice what _he_ is doing to her.

 

The tongue playing with her, the lips sucking, grazing her sensitive flesh, but never hurting. Definitely teasing. Tongue circling and then going deep inside of her, fingers touching her where she likes it the most. She has never said anything to Aramis and yet he seems to understand perfectly what she will enjoy best. Her moans and her body say it for her.

 

Her breasts are heavy once Aramis does look up to see if she hasn't lost it yet. There's one arm thrown across her face, shielding her from the dark atmosphere, keeping the sensations enclosed in her shaking body. It heaves under him, under his skilled tongue and the way he lets his lips linger where he knows it will trigger the best sensations.

 

His Queen is wet and exquisite under him. Positively delicious and when he stops himself from tasting her, it's only to use his fingers, because it makes her grunt in such an unlady-like manner, one Aramis loves tremendously. He's suffocating in the few clothes he is still wearing.

 

“Can I make love to you tonight?” Aramis breathes out in her ear. His tone is soft and loving and Queen Anne knows that if she ever was to give a negative answer, he would find other ways to make the night memorable. She looks at his caring face with dreamy eyes, letting her breathing calm down for this short respite, fingers brushing dark curls away from his face.

 

“You can,” she whispers back. He doesn't need to know all the troubles she went through to make sure she could indeed be reunited with her husband in every way possible. The Queen has so many trusting people in her service now, including the quiet apothecary that Constance recommended and who will make her intimate life possible as often as the Queen desires it.

 

Aramis does indeed not care about the specifics or how bitter the decoctions she has to drink are, as long as he can enjoy his wife's presence and her body to its fullest, for as long as they can. He kisses her cheek, lets one hand drop on her breast, feeling the fullness of it, how delicate it is and how alive it comes under his touch. He cannot help but lap at it once more, one finger grazing the underside of it. Perhaps a little harder than he intended as it leaves a red mark on the otherwise royal pristine skin. But he hears no complaint, only the Queen moaning more at the touch.

 

She's trying to help with his pants, but combined with his, they are doing a blind job, slowing the proceedings more than anything else. Aramis laughs against her chest, surrenders to her and then gasps at how boldly she frees his cock from his smallclothes and lets it harden impossibly more in her hand.

 

The Queen bites her lip once she realizes how Aramis is watching her. She's missed his company and his conversation, but she's also missed every single part of his body because she would have never supposed what was only meant as a marital duty could be so enjoyable. Everything about Aramis is, especially the look of pure contentment on his face.

 

Her palm is soft if not a little sweaty now but the way it glides on him, first carefully, testing, then more surely, it leads Aramis to draw ragged breaths, to rest his forehead on her shoulder, to be comforted by the other hand on the nape of his neck.

 

His cock is full in her hand, twitching under her touch. The Queen is starting to know what Aramis wants, what he likes and she is less afraid that she might hurt him. She has so little experience but so far, in their scarce nights together, she has yet to find something her lover minds. Which helps her being bolder. She would hate to hurt him.

 

But she can't and Aramis can't help but rock his hips forward. He needs more, more touches, stronger ones, and he needs to touch her again, more fully than he already is. For a couple of minutes, he is so lost in her care that he forgets to move, until he feels that his stomach is in knots and that he's missed his Queen so much that he could probably spend only from her expert stroking. Except that he wants more from this reunion.

 

His fingers are back between her legs, rubbing the oversensitive flesh, exciting her further, leading her to grip his cock perhaps a little harder. Aramis sucks in a pleased gasp, increases his own caresses and then all of a sudden, his hand is gone, covering the Queen's and urging her to let him take charge.

 

On its own accord, the Queen's left leg comes up to his waist, wrapping itself around it while he pushes inside of her and he has to still for a second. She is so hot, everywhere around him, underneath him and her face is a sight to behold, lost in all her pleasure, blond locks all around her head. She's shaking around him, enticing him to move, running one hand over his chest.

 

“You don't have to hold back. I've missed you,” the Queen can eventually rasp out, meeting each of Aramis' thrusts, moving under him, gripping his shoulder. Then moaning as he dips his head and starts to suck on her breast, effectively increasing his pace, holding on to her hips and feeling as if he's never gone so deep inside of her.

 

She's delicious inside and out, clenching around him, helping and moaning his name so often that Aramis gasps against her, bites down without meaning to. The sensation comes at a surprise at first, but all of a sudden, it sparks that deep feeling in the pit of her stomach, this overwhelming sensation which frightened her so much the first time, but that the Queen now craves immensely. It makes her breath hitch and her hands grip Aramis' shoulders more firmly. It makes her throw her head back and then it's as if her body is expanding and being remodelled in a more blissful aspect. It hurts in the most fantastic way and she stretches under Aramis who hasn't stopped moving, cannot stop as he watches her coming undone because of him. How she opens her mouth to only utter short moans which seem to never end. How her lips fall apart and she looks at him with wide eyes once she can focus on her lover again.

 

His own face is glistening with sweat, he's licking his lips, rubbing inside of her perhaps more erratically now that she's had her pleasure and the sight is driving Aramis crazy.

 

“I liked that,” Queen Anne confesses in a pant, still moaning from how he is loving her. “I liked what you just did with your teeth.”

 

“I like it, too,” Aramis admits back, lost in how her fingers are playing with his nipples, how she struggles to sit up and change positions for him, close to sitting on his lap. He's shown this to her last month and she enjoyed it maybe more than lying down. She's been shunned from all of this bedroom action for the best part of her life so she is determined to learn as much as she can from the great lover that she is aware Aramis has always been.

 

Her forehead is on his shoulder, her arms around him and she lets him move inside of her, against her overheated flesh. Only Aramis could make her want this to last as long as it can. Only Aramis could ever give her such intense pleasure and actually let her have her own before he did.

 

“I like when it's done to me, too,” Aramis specifies, confident that they are close enough now for her not to be shocked by this type of admission. He hardly knows what her experience in the bedroom was before she met him, even though he's fairly certain it was short to none.

 

“Would you mind if I tried?” It's a miracle the Queen can form such long sentences amidst her bliss. Aramis is holding her tight in his arms, his chest rubbing against hers and he loves how energetic she is, mouthing at his jaw. Her hands clasped around his neck, clutching and never wanting to let go. She may be exhausted and her head might be swarming from her orgasm, Aramis is still making her feel so incredibly good. She never wants the wonderful sensations happening under her skin to subside.

 

Aramis all but growls at her question. He's been going softly with her because he knows it's been a long time for her, even though it also was for him. Her honest words find their way straight to his groin, though, and at the simple thought of his Queen really doing this to him, he can barely contain himself.

 

“Please,” he pleads instead, his hand warm on her lower back, keeping her on his lap as they move together. Then he's crushing her, probably too much but her lips are on his shoulder, hesitating teeth grazing his flesh, testing once again. Tiny bites, one after the other while she has to moan at how he moves inside of her, impossibly faster now, until Aramis rocks her back on the bed and he lies his entire body on hers.

 

He's driving into her as deep as he's ever done before, the Queen realizes, because the feeling is different. It's wilder and harsher and his fingers are digging into her hips like they've haven't done so far. Aramis' swollen lips are on hers, the faint taste of her skin melting on her tongue, making her shiver and wanting more.

 

More of Aramis rocking in her, more love and more emotions.

 

Empowered by her new discovery, Queen Anne licks at the spot she's just bit, rakes her teeth up the side of Aramis' neck, before she bites down once more, harder than she did before. Right under his ear, where he likes to be touched always.

 

It's a loud grunt against her breasts when Aramis comes, shaking inside of her. She keeps him close in her embrace while he slows down, then stills and looks up at her with shining eyes and damp curls falling on his face. Carefully, she brushes them away, smiling sweetly to him, cradling his head to her chest.

 

Aramis feels completely spent, absolutely at peace with his surroundings and his life right now. Nothing else matters but the woman who is holding him in her arms. A woman he never imagined could be his but who now is, truly and totally. No one will come between them. In the safety of private appartments, of the night and quiet, they can be themselves. He can behave like the man in love that he is deep down, with a woman who isn't a monarch in his eyes. Not for these few hours when their life is actually theirs and they don't have to be careful with their words or their actions.

 

“Will you stay the night?” Aramis asks in a hoarse voice after he's withdrawn and he's helped her back into her chemise, less clean than a few hours earlier. He's brought water to her, has drawn some fluffy sheets over both of their bodies and Queen Anne is snuggling against his side, relishing in the fingers still rubbing up and down her side, lulling her to a much needed sleep.

 

There is hope in Aramis' voice. It drawls as only an exhausted person could talk. Exhausted but content. She watches her hand splayed on his bare chest, she toys with the soft hairs there, tracing the fading edge of an old scar.

 

“I shouldn't.....,” she sighs. Aramis clutches her arm, tries not to show his disappointment. The Queen can sense it in how he shifts on the bed and in how he runs a hand through his hair. She kisses the closest patch of skin available to her. “.....but I've missed you too much.”

 

Just like this, Aramis breathes again, kisses the top of her head and watches as she tangles her legs with his, determined not to leave his side until morning. They've done it in the past, Aramis' bedroom being perfect for this because it has no shutter so they are bound to be awoken by the sun at dawn, well before anybody else notices the Queen's absence in her own appartments.

 

“I feel so good with you that it would be an outrage to leave you. I love you so much, Aramis.”

 

“I love you, too. I'll always love you.”

 

The Queen makes a satisfied noise, close to a purr. It makes her lover chuckle and give her another kiss. His hand glides down her back, soothing the muscles.

 

“I've worn your pearls every day since you've left,” she mentions casually. It's completely dark in the room now, their breathing having slowed down. Aramis' eyelids are heavy from all the emotions of the day, from his wonderful reunion with his wife and everything they have just shared together.

 

“And every time I touched them, I thought of you, of how you put them around my neck that night.”

 

“That's what they are intended for, Anne. You wear them beautifully.”

 

“They are the best replacement to a wedding ring that I could have wished for.”

 

As she says so, the Queen reaches up for the necklaces around Aramis' own neck, the ones he never takes off. Her rosary from all these years ago, and the relatively newer one, the one _she_ tied on him when they were married. The one with the silver pendant and the miniature of her enclosed inside.

 

“I've opened it so many times in the last weeks that I'm actually amazed the lock hasn't been broken,” Aramis confesses, hiding a yawn behind the back of his hand while Queen Anne strokes both the pendant and the jewelled cross.

 

“Good night, Aramis,” she eventually decides, seeing how tired he sounds and looks. His eyes are closed above her head, his fingers sprawled on her shoulder. He tightens his hold at the words. “I'm glad you're here. You are the best thing which ever happened to me.”

 

She knows it to be truer tonight than it's ever been. To love someone as much she does, to be respected in return. To have a healthy and constructive relationship albeit with two sides to it. An efficient team when it comes to ruling a Kingdom such as the French one, and a family of sorts in a more private setting, even though their son will never know who his real father is, or what his ties to his mother are now that they are truly bound to one another in the more profund and meaningful way possible.

 

There is no response to her honest admission. Simply light breathing, the chest under her cheek rising steadily, lulling her to sleep as well. An angelic sleep, the slumber of two persons who for a few hours, don't belong to the world but to the tight and affectionate couple they make.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Historic trivia: 
> 
> -"Truth be told the Queen is correct in saying that the possibility of offering Mademoiselle in marriage to the Spanish instead is always open." Mademoiselle was the title given to the first daughter of the King's younger brother, the Duke of Orléans. Here, Aramis is referring to the daughter of Gaston, she was then Louis XIV's cousin. She was indeed a lot older than he was, and Anne of Austria loved her niece. Her and Louis XIII even took her in when the real Gaston remarried and the stepmother despised the royal princess. Anne-Marie-Louise of Orléans even believed she would one day marry her cousin that she called “my little husband” from the day he was born. But then she turned against him and the Queen Regent during the Fronde and it all went down the drain. 
> 
> -"The quiet of the little chapel in the dead of the night, at the time when presumably the Devil was sleeping and nothing would come to curse or destroy this new union." At that time, it was common for couples to marry at night. From a mix of religious belief and superstition, 2 a.m. was supposed to be the time when the Devil would be fooled the most. People believed that a lack of pregnancy would come from Him cursing the newlyweds and so He had to ignore that there had been a wedding. Obviously, this is not the reason why I chose this time for Aramis and the Queen's wedding. But I thought that it fitted their need for secrecy beautifully. I got the idea from Madame de Sévigné, a French noblewoman from the 17th century who wrote amazing and cheeky letters to her daughter to recount all the adventures of her time. She even mentions the real d'Artagnan once or twice. She did get married at 2 a.m. in 1644 so around the same time as my little fic. 
> 
> -"Aramis does indeed not care about the specifics or how bitter the decoctions she has to drink are." I have literally no knowledge of what people used as contraceptive at this time. I drew this from my sketchy remembrance of Outlander to decide the Queen would use potions. I know Claire lived one century later than our heroes but I'm pretty sure some people even in th 17th century had the knowledge to prevent people from getting pregnant without them having to stop having sex altogether. Because what a tragedy would that be for our lovebirds?


End file.
